Yours
by minachandler
Summary: Set during 3x20 but with spoilers for 3x21, 3x22 and 3x23. Oliver reflects on his mission to destroy the League and how it will probably lead to his death. Fortunately, Felicity returns to his side, and she reminds him of what he's fighting for. Smut.


The cool night air felt refreshing on Oliver's face as he stood on the small balcony that overlooked Nanda Parbat. The moon was out, half obscured by cloud, and the sky was a dark midnight blue, the colour of ink.

He sighed, revelling in the content that was washing over him, the sweet scent that was a mixture of Felicity's perfume and sweat lingering on his skin and the glorious taste of her still on his tongue. He had wanted this, wanted her, for so long that even now it was difficult to believe.

More difficult for him to get his head around, however, was the prospect of long stretch of days that he knew would follow where she would no longer be by his side. Sure, he had a plan, but even if it worked, the only way he could emerge from the other side was if he did not die in the process - and that was a big if. And, given how easily Ra's had bested him the last time they had stood in battle, Oliver's death was certainly a likely possibility.

Perhaps, a few hours before, he would have been okay with that – with the prospect of sacrificing himself for the good of those he loved and the city he loved. But now, after the woman he loved said those sweet words back to him, after Oliver gave in to months of longing, after at last he heard the sound of her crying out his name as he brought her to her climax - things were different. He had more to lose now than ever, and part of him was wavering in his conviction to stay here, to carry out what he knew would be a prolonged and painful charade with probably the most dangerous man in the world that would very likely result in both their deaths.

Mercifully, he didn't have long with only his dark, harrowing thoughts for company. He heard Felicity come back into the room. She had shut the door quietly, and her footsteps were soft (without the usual click-click of her heels) but he easily sensed her presence nevertheless.

"So…" she said, and even with his back to her, he could hear the sheepish smile in her voice, " _that_ happened."

Automatically, Oliver smiled, and when he turned towards her, he noticed she was carrying a bottle and two gold cups. She was wearing a kimono style gown that barely reached her knees (she must have found it in one of the drawers) along with matching slippers. Even now, his breath caught in his throat at how beautiful she was. Her eyes were soft, warm, her makeup still smudged a little, her cheeks emanating a rosy glow that was highlighted by the low light of the candles. He took a few steps in her direction, glancing briefly to his left at the dishevelled bedsheets and torn curtain, before his eyes met hers.

"I'm glad it did," he murmured, the smile never leaving his face. And he meant it. There were many, many things he had done in his life that he regretted, that he had punished himself for, but he knew making love - twice - to Felicity Smoak would never be one of them.

"Me too," Felicity said, and when Oliver leaned down to kiss her, he could taste the smile on her lips and feel the curve of her dimples press briefly on his cheek.

When he pulled away, he couldn't for the life of him look away from her, and they shared a smile and laugh before he asked, pointing to the beverage, "What's this?"

Felicity opened the bottle and started pouring into one of the cups. "If there's any kind of God, something… alcoholic." He chuckled again, accepting the cup. It was half-full with a red liquid that gave off the vague aroma of berries.

When she was done pouring, she raised her cup, and for the first time, she looked like she was hesitating. "There's not much to toast to up here, is there?"

Oliver considered. "Well," he said, "there's us."

His heart soared when she smiled at his words, murmuring in assent, her eyes so warm and full of love as they raised their cups. There was a clink as they touched, and he drank.

"Mm," she said appreciatively. "Nice."

"It is," he agreed, and he watched as her tongue darted out to wet her lips, before she took another sip of her drink.

She didn't seem to notice, though, instead setting down the bottle on the floor and asking, "Is Thea okay?"

"Yeah," he replied, tearing his eyes away from her mouth and trying to focus on what she was saying. "Yeah, she was awake when I saw her."

"Does she still think you're dead?" she asked, and he shook his head with a slight smile.

"No, it must have come back to her at some point." Then he grimaced. "She kept asking about Mom, though."

"I'm sure it'll come back to her eventually," Felicity assured him. He must not have looked convinced, because she then stood on her tiptoes and kissed him softly on his lips, her free hand on the back of his neck, before saying, "I meant what I said, you know. On the plane. I love you for how much you care for your sister." She looked relieved when he smiled at that. "And I promise I'll take care of her."

"I know you will."

At the same time, they both took another sip from their cups. "You know, John was asking where you were," Oliver said.

She raised her eyebrows. "What did you tell him?"

He shrugged. "I just said you were with me, and he figured out the rest. Then he said something about us having really bad timing."

"He's not wrong," she agreed, and even though she tried to keep the smile on her face, it was clear from her eyes that it was something of an effort.

He noticed too. Closing his eyes, Oliver took a breath and said, "I also spoke to Maseo. He said I have to be ready for some… ritual at dawn." He glanced at the open doors that led out to the balcony and then back to Felicity, and his hand was at her cheek, his thumb gently brushing a few stray strands of hair away from her face. Automatically, she reached up to squeeze his fingers.

"So, what, you're saying you're mine until then?" she asked, and he could still see the worry in her eyes, but he could sense her anticipation, too, in the quickening of her pulse that he could feel in her wrist as she realised what she said. But for once, she didn't blush or hastily correct herself or apologise. Instead, she downed what was left of her drink in one go, and Oliver could see now, up close, the barely-there stain of her lipstick on the rim of the golden cup and the residual droplets of liquid on the corners of her mouth just before she licked them away.

"Yes," he said, and he realised his voice had become a hoarse whisper as he placed his half-full cup into hers. "All yours."

And when their lips met, he could tell she was surprised by his sudden ardour, but after only a moment she returned his kiss with just as much force. He could feel her teeth as they sank lightly into his bottom lip and could taste cranberries on her tongue. And as he felt her breasts push against his chest, it was obvious that she wasn't wearing a bra.

He raised his free hand to cup her breast just as she pressed her lips on his collarbone, her mouth settling against the hollow of his neck. He tweaked her hardened nipple through the silky material of her kimono, which only made her press down more firmly with her mouth, sucking on the same spot. Oliver groaned.

"Felicity…" he whispered, and even now, the syllables that made up her beautiful name were rosaries of joy. Oliver welcomed the way she was making her mark on him, just like the tiny indentations on his arms where her nails had dug into his skin and the smudge of lipstick on his neck that he hadn't even been aware of until Diggle mentioned it. Not that he was complaining - he wanted her to brand him as hers, forever and always, and she stood on her tiptoes again to kiss him full on the mouth, her tongue slipping between his lips to meet his.

Oliver broke away from her lips, and he delighted in the tiny moan that escaped her mouth when he did so. Their eyes met. The two cups still in hand, he lowered himself slowly to his knees, setting them down beside him but all the while never breaking his gaze from her beautiful face above him. Her lips were shiny, reddened by his kiss, and they were ever so slightly parted as she watched him. Still kneeling, he gripped the backs of her knees with one hand, the other slipping beneath the hem of her gown.

Parting the fabric to expose Felicity's stomach, he kissed a spot just above her belly button, his tongue darting out to soothe her skin from the prickle of his stubble. His mouth trailed down her abdomen, feeling her sharp intakes of breath from the way her belly rose and fell, and for Oliver, every kiss was a supplication of love, a mouthed prayer of adoration. And when he ran the back of his hand between her legs, he found that her panties were soaked through. He slid one careful forefinger between the wet cotton and found her centre, and he could feel her toes curl and her thighs clench around his hand. He looked up at her and could see her grey eyes were alight, hungrily watching him.

Still with his eyes fixed on hers, he hooked his fingers around the elastic of her panties and pulled them down. He only got them halfway down her legs, though, at her knees, before he could not stop himself reaching up and pressing a kiss on her upper thigh. She wriggled a little and her underwear fell to her ankles, after which she kicked them off. He caressed the gentle swell of her hip, and with his mouth open, he placed a kiss directly over her entrance, squeezing her hip as he did so, and his heart skipped a beat and he became aware of his hard-on when her legs began to shake a little.

He steadied them with his arm, its grip on the backs of her knees tightening as he steered her a couple of steps backwards until she sank back onto the scarlet cushions of the couch, and all the while, his head was bowed and his tongue was flicking gently around her entrance. And then, he felt her grab his hand, the one that had been resting on her thigh, and Felicity locked her fingers with his tightly, letting out a long breath and then a feral moan when his tongue was finally inside her.

This time, he knew where to tease her, more familiar with the contours of her body and the sensitive spots inside her that he knew to touch. She arched into him appreciatively and murmured "Oliver" over and over, punctuated with breaths that were quickening as he began to bring her to her peak. Their fingers were still laced together, and his other hand was cupping her behind, moving every time she rocked her hips.

And then she came, with a keening moan, and he withdrew, pressed another kiss over her entrance and then looked up at her. For the life of him, he couldn't stop the smile on his face - beads of sweat had appeared on her forehead and were trickling down her cheeks, her hair was mussed, and the kimono she was wearing was creased and hung loosely on her frame, half undone.

It was the most erotic sight of his life.

"You are ridiculously good at that," Felicity said, as she slid down from the couch to sit on the floor, her body pressing against his.

Oliver laughed and his lips met hers for a kiss. "Good to know," he murmured, and she climbed onto his lap. He groaned into her mouth when he felt her hand on the hardness straining in his pants. He made to lift his t-shirt, but Felicity stopped him.

"Let me," she said softly, and he smiled, obediently lifting his arms and letting her take it off him. After throwing it aside, she kissed down his stomach, her tongue lingering on his latest scar, the one Ra's had inflicted on him. She worked the buttons to his jeans, but she took her time, pressing her hand down between his legs. He found himself pulling her up to kiss her soundly on her lips, to at least temporarily satiate the desire that had been building up within him.

She straddled him, and he could tell she was fully aware of sensations in his groin when she was directly above his clothed need for her. Still kissing him, Felicity slipped both her hand into his pants until she had a good hold of him. "Felicity," he said, and his voice was hoarse, her name a gravelly plea.

With one tug, his underwear was off along with his jeans, and she was still holding him with both hands when she dipped her head below his navel. She pressed a kiss on the very tip of his erection, her tongue collecting the bead of moisture that formed there, and he closed his eyes and growled her name, drawing out the last syllable while his fingers tangled with her hair.

But then he opened his eyes and realised there was something different. Something wrong. His fingertips touching her hair were wet, and he could the ends dripping and glistening in the candlelight. When she looked up at him, he saw, so was the front of her gown. And suddenly, he could no longer feel her hand between his legs and could feel a rush of cold water on his scalp - when had he shaved his head? - so he closed his eyes again and when he opened them, he could not see Felicity, just a darkened room with only a tiny window letting in a square of light and a large bowl at his feet, his hands chained together.

"Oliver Queen is alive only in the past."

"Oliver Queen is dead," he replied dutifully after several moments, his blurred vision slowly coming into focus and the formidable face of Ra's al Ghul becoming clearer.

"He is a mere memory that you have obliterated from existence."

"I am al-Saheem," Oliver said, "Warith al Ghul, heir to the demon."

It was a mantra he was used to reciting by now, every time he was woken by Ra's. Normally, he was greeted with a bag over his head when he woke up - this time it was water. He would have been surprised had he not been so dizzy and cold

Most of all, though, he felt the pain of being apart from the woman who haunted his dreams. He could still feel the ghost of Felicity's breath on his skin, even now - especially now, and it took every ounce of effort for him to banish this fantasy from his brain and focus on the charade at hand.


End file.
